


Regret

by AcidGreenFlames



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidGreenFlames/pseuds/AcidGreenFlames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Onslaught lays dieing on a battle field, and regrets much in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> This past weekend was Anime North, and I partook in the fanfiction writing contest that one of the volunteers was hosting. I was given two hours and the prompt “He/She looked out the window and took a step back in astonishment.” And this was what I came up with. Unbete’d so the grammar is meh and it’s really not my best work. I didn’t win, but I had fun doing it.   
> Also, anyone who is still reading A Good Run For Your Money, not to worry. Chapter 4 is with my beta, and chapter 5 is fighting me, but almost done. I also took a small break from it when I took part of the Gift Fic exchange. I should begin updating that fic normally once again very soon. :)   
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all.

Energon blood dripped down his legs in thick rivers, draining from his frame at a frighteningly quick pace. Its shimmering pinks and purples spread out over the ground, memorizing him, hypnotising him as a rainbow of color spread throughout the liquid that powered his once brutal frame.

All that power, all that brutality, all that pure strength, raw and seemingly unstoppable, was being drained from him with every drop of lost energon. It pooled beneath him, under his shoulders, from where he took laser fire covering his foolish subordinate. It drained from his thick waist and chunky thighs from where the blasted Dinobot had grabbed him, threw him to the ground and stomped brutally in his damaged leg. The black stain of oil and the yellowed hydraulic fuel floated like a fungus within his life energon, marking his weakness, his foolishness for all to see.

Throat cables worked as he took a deep swallow, forcing back the energon that he could taste on his tongue, could feel it dripping from the corner of his mouth.  Groaning, he rolled over, his unmasked face digging into the sand of the dessert, the tiny granules sticking to his cheek from where energon leaked from the corner of his mouth. With an exhausted sigh, he tried to force himself to sit up, take his face from the dirt of the battle field. If he could force himself to his feet, then, maybe, he could find the strength to drag himself from the battle field, crawl if he had to.

The gears in his shoulders screamed in protest, metal on metal grinding echoed throughout the battle field, the screech lost to the explosions of battle, the madness of war.       

He grunted as his arms shook in a vain attempt to support his weight, his fans whorled to life in an effort to cool his overheating body, his thick but broken digits digging into the sand. A broken sound tore from his mouth when his arms gave out, no longer having any power to keep them going, he fell back to the ground, his face landing into the dirt with a thud.

Groaning, he carefully opened the bond to his gestalt, hoping they would feel him, feel his need to be aided, feel that he was fading. Fear, worry, _help me_ echoed back at him from the other four sides of his bond, telling him the others knew he was in trouble, but they couldn’t help him. They were afraid as well, too far from him, caught in battle that would not let them leave.

Not even the two fliers on his gestalt team could save him now. 

He was going to die, that much he was sure of. He wasn’t even going to die in the heat of battle, wouldn’t die nobly, and wouldn’t be remembered. He was going to bleed out on the dessert floor, far from battle, even further from the base that had become the closest thing to his home.

His breaths came out in ragged, uneven gasps, too weak to even muster up the anger he was so well known for. The rage that had fueled him though so many of the worst battles that anyone had ever seen. The rage that had let him defeat the Wrecker team so many eons ago, his intelligence that had given him the edge to do it.

It was all for nothing now, useless as he was.

Heaving another sigh, the Decepticon groaned in pain and did the only thing he could with what little time he had left. He thought. He regretted.

There were so many things that Onslaught regretted.

He regretted being caught by Shockwave, dooming him and his team to the nothingness of the detention center. He regretted not defeating Megatron when he had the chance, when they had been awoken and made a gestalt. He regretted not letting Vortex kill more mecha, the kind who stood in their way. The kind that had wronged them, done them harm in the past.

He regretted being a bad commander, knowing he should have kept his team safer, should have looked out for them better. Should have never allowed Megatron to upload the loyalty program into their heads, forced them to obey. Forced them to kneel, when all they wanted to do was revolt.

Yet, despite all that, despite all his regrets what Onslaught regretted the most was not seeing the little Autobot one more time. The only mech who had made him laugh, had the power over him to make him feel unsure, insecure and yet untouchable at the same time.

He would not get to see that half smirk crawl over his face again, see those crimson plates flash through battle or as they helped Brawl get Swindle back for whatever the tank saw as a wrong the jeep had done to him.  

He regretted not saying goodbye that last time, thinking that no doubt that Sideswipe was in the thick of everything, enjoying the thrill of the fight, the rush of battle. He regretted not laughing more with the crimson twin, he regretted being so suspicious of the twins interest in him. They were at war after all, and he was the commander of the Combaticons, a gestalt that had bested not only Megatron, but the great Optimus Prime. So why in the world would a loyal Autobot like that have any interest in a Decepticon like him?  

It had baffled him, stunned him. Made him suspicious, and mean, and cruel. Yet the crimson frontliner had seen him as a challenge, had sought him out time and again in battle to fight with. To mock and joke with. Things with the Autobot had grown accidently, a certain, almost fondness sparked from some place that Onslaught had once thought was dead. A foolish fondness that was returned from the Autobot as well.

The commander had thought, many a night, the whole situation was stupid. Thought it was an Autobot trick to bring the gestalt down, especially when the crimson twin’s brother had begun to spend far too much time with his interrogator. Not that Vortex seemed to mind.

Now however, now Onslaught would have done anything to see the Autobot one more time. To see those mischievous blue optics light up above him, amused and warm, the small grin that came when the corner of his lips turned up just before the full blown smile. 

Onslaught would never get to see those again, would miss out on the younger mechs life, knowing that the war would end, and Sideswipe would move on, forgetting him as some distant lover from the past.

Dull crimson optics faded, flickering as they went out and the gasping shutter left his body in heaves. He felt cold and weak, and he desperately wanted to see the Autobot one more time.

His optics faded to black as his chest heaved one last time. He thought he felt a hand to his shoulder, squeezing tight. He thought he heard Sideswipe’s concerned voice call his name over his helm, edging into fear when he didn’t respond.

It was just his processor dying, he thought to himself. Sideswipe was far from him, in battle. Or back at his base, safe and sound with his twin, laughing about the days events. Bragging about the things he had done.

It was just his dying mind reaching out for whatever small comfort it could reach for, nothing more.

“Onslaught!” he heard Sideswipe call again, voice now full of fear, sounding far away above him. Everything went black and Onslaught knew no more.

*

The beeping of a spark monitor was annoying and foolishly loud; that was the first coherent thought Onslaught had when he came to. The sterile scent of a med bay lingered around him, and he could feel the line attached to his arm that slowly pumped life energon back into his body.

Groaning, Onslaught forced his optics to online, waited for the static to clear to stare dimly at the grey celling above him. He worked his mouth, the stiff jaw hinge squeaking as he did, confusion flooding his mind as he stared at the grey ceiling.

He had to be back at his own HQ. The _Nemesis_ had pitch black walls, dark and murky, while the _Ark_ was the polar opposite with his blinding bright orange. Only his base had the dull, yet oh so familiar grey that he now stared at intently. 

The flat metal had no answers for his questions, couldn’t tell him how he had gotten there. The bond once again closed to the others, the mental blocks carefully rebuilt to keep their minds separated now one of their own was not dying.

Heaving a sigh, Onslaught tried not to think about that his foolish team had been up to while he lay unconscious in the med bay. Only Primus knew what Vortex had done in his absence.

Forcing himself to sit up, he waited for the vertigo to pass, waited for the world to stop spinning around him and straighten out once again. Continuing to breathe deeply through his nose he waited for the sickness to stop as his tanks churned.

When he could see straight once more, he on lined his optics to inspect the repairs done to his body; the laser damage to his waist was repaired, and the bite from the Dinobot smooth and whole again. The commander heaved a sigh, knowing he would have to deal with Hooks bragging that he saved his life once again sometime very soon. 

Knowing his team had been without him for who knows how long, Onslaught forced himself to his feet and tugged the line form his body. More insistent beeping was heard, but the Combaticon ignored it. Instead he forced himself to walk, forced his legs to work when all they wanted to give out from under him to the door.

He passed the observation deck on his slow gait across the medbay, and past the observation window; a place he had spent many a night while he waited to see if his team mates would pull through after surgery. 

He happened to glance up, looking out the window and took a step back in astonishment. He stumbled as he back peddled, falling back, landing hard on his aft with a dull thud. Yet not even that jerked him from the surprise of what he saw.

For what should have been the empty observation deck was full of not just his team, but the pair of brightly colored Autobot’s.  Sitting on the floor, next to where Blast Off slept on the chair, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe leaned against the wall; the yellow mech’s helm nestled on his twins shoulder while Sideswipe’s dark helm leaned back, drool slowly leaking from the corner of his mouth.

All Onslaught could to was stare at the twins, his jaw open in shock, not sure if perhaps his processor had been damaged in the battle. They should not be there, they should be back on the _Ark_ with the other Autobot’s. They should certainly not be deep in rest inside an enemy base.

As the shock wore off, Onslaught retched up to touch his shoulder, the one Sideswipe had squeezed when he found the commander near dead on the torn battle field. A small half grin spread over the commander’s mouth.

He suddenly didn’t regret so much.

 


End file.
